A Wound in the Force
by xephtastic
Summary: Resurfacing in Known Space after a decade of wandering, Rashida El-Amin boards the Harbinger, a Republic cruiser bound for Telos IV. Unaware that her return draws the eye of dark forces seeking her destruction, her presence can only bring peril upon those she travels with...
1. Harbinger

**A Wound in the Force**

**Chapter 1: **_**Harbinger**_

Harbinger_ command deck  
_en route_ to Onderon to address the ongoing unrest in the region  
_

When the order came in to divert course to the Outer Rim, Captain Amias Hale was more than a little skeptical. However, orders were orders, and, as _Harbinger's _commanding officer, he was bound to obey them. Sighing, he turned from the communications panel and began the walk from the briefing room to the bridge, deep in thought. Admiral Carth Onasi had delivered the command personally, which, in itself, was enough to prompt Captain Hale into speculating the identity of the unknown traveler. She _had_ to be important for the Admiral _himself_ to arrange her passage on a Republic cruiser - with diplomatic status, no less! It was a curious situation, and he was far from pleased with the prospect of the _Harbinger_ becoming a common passenger liner, but he held his tongue, as was expected of him. It was not his place to question a direct order from his betters, though that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Distracted by his reverie, he collided with an officer heading in the opposite direction, sending her datapad clattering noisily to the floor. She muttered a curse, and retrieved her datapad, checking for any damage. She looked up, and upon recognising her captain she started. "Sir!" she said, saluting him with respect appropriate for her rank. He laughed, catching her off-guard, and his smile only increased at her mortified expression. "At ease, officer," he said, and she lowered her arm, though he could see that her body remained tense. "I apologise—" she began, but a signal from him stopped her short.  
"My fault entirely, my thoughts were otherwise occupied. As you were."  
She saluted him again and allowed him to move past her, watching as he continued toward the bridge. His manner had suggested that he was uneasy about something, and she knew from experience that it usually meant trouble would follow.

Arriving at the bridge, the captain drew several curious glances as he moved past the stationed officers, toward the navigation computer, his destination. The Navigation Officer, a small blonde woman with a commanding presence, stood before a screen displaying a map of their route to Onderon. She examined it closely, using her hands to magnify specific sections, making minute alterations, almost without thinking, as she processed the information with admirable speed. For a few moments, he watched her at work. Observing the expert way in which she conducted herself, he found new appreciation for her dedication.

He coughed politely to call her attention to him, and she whisked around, saluting him with reverence in her eyes. He smiled at her, searching his mind for her name... he knew it, for he had worked with her for some months, but at first he drew a blank. Then it came to him. _Hanna Hayes._ "At ease, Hayes." She visibly relaxed, though her posture remained upright in the presence of her captain.  
"We're on course for Onderon, sir," she said, turning back to the charts. "The ship is running well, and with the route I've selected, we're making good time." She observed her work with a measure of pride, which he knew she had earned.

"I've just received a direct order from Admiral Onasi that _Harbinger's _course be altered," he said.  
She looked at him, a question in her eyes, but stayed silent.  
"We have a new mission: find and retrieve a passenger on the Outer Rim, and provide safe passage to Telos IV. We are then to do what we can to aid the recovery effort there. We are to arrive in ten days."  
"Sir?"  
He softened at the concern he saw in her face and said, "This change of course is unexpected, I know, and I can't offer any answers, because I don't have them myself. The Admiral was adamant, however, that the passenger be given diplomatic immunity, though for what purpose, I do not know."  
Hanna turned to her well-charted course, her gaze lingering there a moment before she faced her captain once more. "Where are we headed?"  
At this, Captain Amias Hale sighed. He noticed he did so more often in the coming days than ever before in his career as a ship's captain.  
And it all started with _her_.  
"Set course for Makem Te."

"Please remain still so that I may examine you." Sadri Los, the Medical Officer aboard the _Harbinger_, set her patient firmly back onto the bed. She didn't ask where the many scars marking her patient's skin had come from, though she had her suspicions. Most of them were old, faded with time, but she knew several were more recent, the freshest of them had been inflicted no more than a week before. "One of your wounds has opened again," she said, frustrated, retrieving a med kit from the shelf above the bed. "Have you been undertaking any strenuous activities since your last check-up?"  
"No," was the reply. Even in that single word, her accent was thick, and Sadri wondered at the enigma sitting before her. She had hardly spoken since they had fetched her from Makem Te four days ago. The captain had informed her that she was a diplomatic passenger bound for Telos IV, and nothing more, which only piqued her curiosity further.

She applied a salve to the freshly opened wound that would harden and help it to close over again. She then conducted several more tests on her patient's physical wellbeing, recording notes in the patient file on her datapad, which would later be expanded into a full report.

Rashida El-Amin tired of Sadri's questions and her unspoken curiosity, almost tangible in the way that she studied her. She had knowledge enough of medicine to treat herself, and in the past few days she had been subjected to more tests than she cared to count. She hated being under such intense scrutiny, not just from the Medical Officer, but from almost every crew member she passed by on one of her walks through the ship. It was her way of passing the time on the journey to Telos, for she couldn't find sleep, instead spending her time restlessly wandering the halls or staring aimlessly out into the void of hyperspace.

Captain Hale often joined her there, sighing as he watched stars streak by through the large, three-paneled viewport on the bridge. He was the only one who treated her with a manner approaching normality, though she sensed even he had his secret doubts concerning her identity.

She was pulled out of her reflection by the beeping of her armband, indicating that it was time for her to take her daily injection. Sadri responded, selecting a syringe filled with a pale blue liquid. She removed any air bubbles before inserting it into Rashida's bare arm, injecting the liquid into her bloodstream. She then removed the needle and placed it in a chute marked _Hazardous Waste_. She pulled off her gloves one finger at a time, disposing of them in the same way as the needle. "Well, you are free—"  
Her patient had pulled on a shirt and was already crossing the room before she could finish her sentence. She shook her head as she watched the door slide closed behind her. "What a puzzle that girl is."

_Harbinger_ continued on its set course for two days more, with little further change in the ship's routines. Their passenger still drew half-veiled glances as she walked the halls, though she seldom interacted with the crew. Her movements were shadowed by a silver protocol droid, which had been assigned to watch her upon boarding the ship. She knew the captain had sent the droid for her protection as well as his own. The droid was a talkative one, if prompted, and she would sometimes engage in conversation with it, though it could not provide her with the kind of conversation she craved. She was surprised at herself when she recognised her need for company to comfort her in her restlessness. She had wandered the galaxy alone for near a decade and had never sought another soul. Why now?

When he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, Captain Hale smiled. He had become used to the uneven gait of their only passenger, and he knew it was she. He didn't ask what caused her to limp, but he could see in the way she walked that it pained her still. The matter of her past was not a topic they had touched upon in conversation, and he sensed that she preferred to keep it hidden, for whatever reason. He would respect her unspoken wishes, though he had several questions he wished to ask her. The Admiral had not been forthcoming with the details of their mission, and though he enjoyed Rashida's company, he could not deny the unease that her presence had brought upon his ship. He often felt that the deceptively straightforward course they were on would only bring them to peril.

Rashida joined the captain in the briefing room which, but for them, was empty of life. She knew he came there when he was feeling on edge. Indeed, she could almost sense his tension. "What brings you here, Rashida?" he asked, and she smiled at the use of her first name.  
"I tired of the protocol droid following me, and left it on the engine deck for routine maintenance. It did not remain there without causing a fuss." She arched an eyebrow at him and he laughed softly.  
"You think, perhaps, that I assigned the droid only to rid myself of its presence?"  
She gave him a wry look. "Perhaps."  
"And I suppose you think it whispers reports of your activities to me at obscure hours?" He couldn't keep the smile from his voice, and turned away from her in a feigned attempt to hide his intention.  
"You _are_ a shady character," she mused. "I wouldn't be surprised if—"

She stopped short at the sound of an alert over the ship's speaker. "Sir, we're picking up a distress signal coming from a small freighter. Your presence is requested at the bridge."  
All evidence of his previous good humour melted away, and his face grew serious. "Return to your quarters while I sort this out," he said, his voice much harsher than he intended. She stiffened, sensing a subtle change in his demeanour toward her, almost accusing.

He watched her leave the room, and immediately regretted the way he had spoken. It was unfair of him to blame her for a situation unrelated to her presence, but he couldn't ignore the return of the unease that had nagged at him since her arrival. He pushed such thoughts from his mind. He couldn't be distracted, not now. Not when lives were counting on him having a clear head. He left the briefing room at a brisk walk, heading directly for the bridge.

Navigation Officer Hanna Hayes was worried. She had left out details over the speaker, wary of causing unnecessary panic among the crew. After all, the claim could be false. The message had said that the freighter was under attack from a _Sith_ warship, but the Sith had been wiped out years ago...  
Hadn't they?  
She watched the little red dot, displaying the location of the freighter, blink on and off, and wondered if it could be true. The captain's arrival on the bridge, however, prevented her from following that disturbing train of thought any further.

Captain Hale approached the navigation console, and saw that Hanna's expression reflected the same anxiety he felt regarding the unexpected situation. She didn't salute him when he drew up beside her, but he took no offense, his attention focused on the chart before him. "Did you match the vessel's ID signature to our databanks?" he asked after a pause, turning to her.  
"No, Sir, but there's something else..." Hesitating, she glanced at the officers stationed on the bridge. She lowered her voice, so that only the captain heard her next words. "The freighter claims to have been attacked by a _Sith_ warship."  
If he was surprised at this new development, he kept his reaction closely veiled, for he showed no outward sign of distress. "Could it be true?" she urged.

He offered no direct answer to her query, instead moving to the communication console, opening up a channel to the Admiral. "Admiral Carth Onasi, this is the captain of _Harbinger_. We have received a distress signal from an unidentified freighter and request permission to investigate further. I am forwarding the ID signature to you as we speak. Do you copy?"  
There was a pause, followed by the display flickering to life. "This is Admiral Carth Onasi of _Sojourn_, I copy. We're running the ID signature now."  
Then tension in the air was palpable as they awaited the response. "Captain, you have permission to go ahead. Once the situation is secure, return to your prior course. We'll rendezvous on Telos IV. Onasi out."

Carth sank back in his chair after the communication with _Harbinger_ was closed, suddenly feeling drained of energy. He had almost exclaimed aloud when he recognised the ID signature of the distressed vessel. It was like seeing the ghost of his past, and it took all of his self-control to remain calm. He exhaled slowly, massaging his temples as he tried to compose himself as an Admiral should.  
_The Ebon Hawk.  
_He tried to block the rush of memories that came to him then, but to no avail. He saw her face in his mind and he almost crumbled completely. _Revan...  
_"Sir, are you all right?" asked one of his officers, who noticed his distress.  
"I'm fine," he said weakly. Then, drawing himself up, he concealed his emotions behind a mask of authority. "I'm fine," he said again, stronger this time. "As you were."

Rashida returned to the crew deck and sat down on one of the red couches in her cabin, feeling a little dispirited. She could handle the accusing stares from the rest of the crew, but she had thought Captain Hale different. She had been... _absent_ for some time, and during that time she had neglected social interaction. Six days aboard _Harbinger_, surrounded by people wherever she went, had not made her transition into a semblance of normality any easier. It only left her feeling alienated, and she wondered if she could ever _truly_ return to life in Known Space after what she'd done.  
Frustrated with her emotional state, she began to braid her hair, hoping the repeated motion would distract her from dark thoughts threatening to surface.

She felt the ship lurch slightly and knew that they had left hyperspace. She left her room, even though doing so would place her in direct violation of the captain's order. However, she wasn't concerned with any potential consequences, and made her way up to the command deck, then to the bridge where she would find Captain Hale.

When she arrived on the bridge she saw him speaking with the Navigation Officer in a low voice. Judging by the movement of his hands as he spoke, he was agitated about something. The rest of the bridge was startling in its calm. On her way, she had noticed several crew members heading for the armoury, and she had expected more of a buzz on the upper level. She flicked her braid over her shoulder and approached the captain, favouring her left leg. He looked up from his conversation, their eyes meeting. Rashida stared at him defiantly, and thought she saw a flicker of guilt in his brown eyes, but he turned away. Hayes moved back to the central console, leaving the captain to stand alone.

"Is _Harbinger _en route to assist the freighter?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back, unknowingly mirroring his posture.  
"Our course has been diverted slightly, but once the situation is under control, we will re-enter hyperspace and resume the mission as before." He didn't look at her as he spoke, instead gazing out into the vast expanse of space.  
"Do I have your permission to remain outside of my quarters?"  
He winced at the formality of her tone, so removed from the playful humour just hours earlier.  
"Granted," he said, and she turned to leave. "Rashida—" He caught her arm. She looked down at his hand, then back to his face. "Yes?"  
He hesitated. People were watching now, and he didn't want to cause a scene. He let go.

She wandered for a while, with no real purpose at all, before she found herself back at her room. "Do I have your permission to remain outside of my quarters?" she mocked as she entered the unlock code. "I have nowhere else to go." The door slid open and she was greeted by the silver protocol droid. Groaning inwardly, she moved past it, rummaging through the cupboard until she found the item she sought: a bottle of medicinal spirits. It sure as heck wasn't Corellian rum, but it was the best the _Harbinger_ had to offer. She poured herself a shot glass and downed it before pouring another. The droid came up behind her, but she ignored it. "Query: Are you all right, Master?"  
"I'm fine."  
"Concerned observation: Your rapid consumption of a distilled liquid suggests otherwise."  
Rashida slammed her glass down on the bench, turning to the droid. "I'm _fine_."  
"Annoyed resignation: Very well, Master. I'll leave you to your rumination."  
She heard the droid leave, and sank to the floor, exhausted.

_Harbinger_ reached the transmitted location and found the damaged freighter, as well as a Sith warship, drifting through space. The response was almost immediate, and the strike teams moved in unison, sweeping the warship for any signs of life. The ship was empty, save the severely injured body of what seemed to have once been a man, covered in hundreds of fractures and scars. It was taken to the med bay for examination and, with the medical technicians unable to determine whether it was alive or dead, the body was placed in a kolto tank in the center of the lab. When the boarding channel was retracted, it had transported more than the strike teams back aboard the ship, though the crew were none the wiser. They didn't see them coming.

The search on the freighter only turned up more questions: a battered utility droid and several corpses were all that could be found. Autopsies were performed, and the freighter was stored in one of the lowerhangar bays for a closer investigation.  
That was when the real trouble started.

Captain Amias Hale sighed again when yet _another_ report of system failures came into his hands. Since bringing in that strange freighter, _Harbinger_ had been experiencing more failures than ever before. The ship's engineers were working to fix their weapons system, which had broken down a few hours after they made the jump to hyperspace. Now he looked down at the datapad in his hand, reporting that their communication was unresponsive, and he didn't know why. He suspected sabotage, but hadn't had the chance to look into it further. Indeed, he hadn't time for much at all, other than doing all he could to keep his ship in order.

A deep grinding came from below, sending vibrations through the entire ship, followed by a _thud_. He looked through the viewport, but instead of seeing a tunnel of stars streaking past the glass, he saw only the stillness of space. He approached the Navigation Officer, who was attempting to reboot the central console, which had shut itself down. "Why have we dropped out of hyperspace?" he demanded. She looked at him, and he was taken aback by the fear he saw in her eyes. "Sir, someone has activated the manual override on the hyperdrive."

He looked around at the officers on deck, then back to her. "Someone up here?"  
"No, Sir. It can only be done by physically flipping the switch in the engine room."  
He nodded towards the central console. "Do what you can." With that, he strode away, only to be interrupted by one of the engineers on his way out. The man stooped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "What's wrong?"  
"Sir…" he panted. "The engines have stopped."

Rashida was in the medical bay when she heard the engines grind to a halt underneath the ship. She was waiting to received her routine injection, but none of the staff were available, too preoccupied with treating the crew members who had been coming in with strange, unexplained injuries. Whispers of missing crew and silenced comm channels circulated the lab, yet she paid little attention to the rumours. She had been told to stay on her bed, but her gaze was drawn to the kolto tank in the center of the room, and even when she wasn't looking, she felt herself thinking about the dark, broken figure floating in the healing liquid.

Eventually she gave into her curiosity and left the bed, limping cautiously toward the tank. No one noticed that she had moved, and her progress was unhindered. She reached the center tank and looked up at the broken skin, her eyes tracing the cracks and scars covering the pale, rotting flesh. Her hand touched the glass, cold and smooth beneath her fingers. She could almost feel a pulsing within, and it chilled her deeply. Had it moved? She pulled her hand back, suddenly overcome with a throbbing headache. Stumbling back to her bed, she lay down, rubbing at her temples in an attempt to ease the pain.

An attendant approached her at last, bringing with her a syringe filled with transparent fluid. Rashida noticed that it looked different to her usual dosage, and began to raise her head from the pillow. The attendant pushed her gently back down, pulling up her sleeve to prepare her arm for injection. She administered the fluid and disposed of the hazardous waste before leaving to address her other duties.

Rashida left the room feeling a little unsteady, her movements heavy and slow. She almost made it to her cabin, but as she reached for the keypad, her arm fell heavily to her side and she slid down the wall to the floor. She fought the overwhelming urge to sleep for as long as she could, but it was too strong. As her eyes finally closed, the last thing she heard was the sound of mechanical footsteps coming toward her.


	2. Rotten Luck

**A Wound in the Force**

**Chapter 2: _Rotten _**_**Luck**_

_[Peragus mining facility, Peragus II]_

For the fourth time that day, Atton Rand cursed his rotten luck. He must have got up on the wrong side of the bunk, or something stupid like that, because nothing seemed to be going in his favour. First of all, he had slept in a full hour past the alarm, which meant he was missing out on pay, as he hadn't clocked in for work. None of his fellow miners had thought to wake him, and why should they? His loss was their gain, as it meant they were paid a little extra to balance the wages. That was how it worked. Just the other week, he had laughed at one of the new miners, who slept through the entire morning on account of drinking far too much the night before. He wasn't laughing now.

If that wasn't enough, he had cut his hand on a vibroblade hidden amongst his clothes when he was getting dressed. Who leaves a naked blade under a pile of clothes, anyway? One of his brainless roommates, no doubt. He had to use his favourite shirt to staunch the flow of blood, which only served to further darken his mood.

The mess hall was almost empty when he arrived, with only a few late risers sitting down, almost inhaling their food so they could get to work and not miss out on any more pay. The one benefit of his lateness was that he didn't have to socialise, and he avoided the notice of meatheads like Coorta and his crew, who went out of their way to make his life a living hell. He could handle himself in a fight, but Coorta fought even dirtier than he did, and that was saying something. Atton knew he was just jealous, maybe even threatened, by his good looks and numerous successes with women.

The remains of that morning's breakfast were close to being inedible, but he choked them down anyway, knowing the importance of eating _something _before work. He needed his strength for the day ahead of him, especially with such a poor start. He gulped down the last of it and quickly disposed of the tray, hastening out of the room toward the locker bay.

Now fully equipped in the safety gear of his current profession, Atton Rand set about cutting through a wall of rock, the sensor on his headgear indicating that a sizeable pocket of gas lay a few meters behind it. As he guided the mining laser in a careful clockwise motion, his thoughts drifted to _Nar Shaddaa_, the infamous _Smuggler's Moon_ where he had spent countless nights in luxury - hitting the bars, dancing at clubs, spending his nights with beautiful women... before he had run out of money, of course. And ended up working in this dump. With his record, it had been almost impossible to land a decent job, until he'd heard about a mining colony on an asteroid field in the _Peragus_ system.

:-:-:-:

_"You're kidding, right?" he snorted, upon overhearing a group of miners talking amongst themselves at one of those 87-hour diners found on almost every street corner. "Mind your own business, pretty boy," one of the miners growled in Aqualish, but Atton was not so easily deterred. He was drunk and desperate for money, and experiencing a significant lapse in judgment. "No, really," he said, rising from his stool with an effort. "That's kriffing _insane_." He approached their table unsteadily, unaware of the hostile glares directed at him. Had he been sober, he would have felt the menace rising from their tense forms and left then and there. If there was one thing he was good at, it was running. He'd been doing it all his life._

_ Instead, he plunked himself down on one of the empty chairs and rested his legs on the table, ignorant to the growing hostility in the room. Several of the other tenants had already left, sensing that the confrontation could only end one way. Those who remained watched on, eager to witness the inevitable conflict. "Pretty sure the last time people mined over there... a big explosion happened..." He clasped his hands into a ball then slowly expanded his fingers outward to represent the blast, complete with sound effects. Observers of the scene craned in their seats, anticipating the imminent outbreak of violence._

_ The Aqualish miner took him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from his seat. "I _said_ mind your own business!" He let go. The miners laughed as Atton tried to regain his balance. A heavy shove sent him tumbling backwards, knocking over a Twi'lek waitress carrying a tray of soup bowls. She swore at him in Ryl before pushing him away, muttering as she gathered the shattered fragments._

_ The other two miners seized him and dragged him outside into the cold night air. Ignoring the faces watching through the glass, they gave him a brutal beating, then left him lying on the pavement with a black eye, several fractured ribs and a broken nose. It wasn't long before he blacked out, giving into the blissful embrace of oblivion._

_ He woke in an unfamiliar space, unsure of how he had got there, feeling like he'd been crushed by a stampede of angry dewbacks. He touched his face tentatively, searching for any serious damage. "My nose!" he exclaimed.  
"I'd be worried about more than my nose if I were you," a voice said behind him.  
Startled, he sat up, hissing in pain as he moved his fractured ribs. "W-Where am I...?"  
"One of those nights, eh? Well, let me fill in the blanks. You're on a starship bound for the Peragus mining facility."  
Atton moaned, lying back down on the cold floor of the ship. "What the kriff did I drink last night..."_

:-:-:-:

A quiet jarring noise caught his attention and he groaned. "Why me?" He tossed the defective laser into a scrap pile and left his claim to fetch another. He selected one from the wall rack and headed back to continue his work. "Where do you think you're going, Rand?"  
He stopped in his tracks and turned, flashing a charming smile. "Coorta! Just what I needed. Thank you for gracing me with your stench!"  
Coorta's shadow, a Zabrak with an extremely short temper, took a step forward, but Coorta held him back. "Easy, Al'kan. Not yet."  
"Keeping your pet in line, I see?" Atton taunted, smiling as the Zabrak growled, clenching his fist. The tunnels were silent, now. The other miners had stopped drilling, and watched the confrontation with interest.

"No need to tease him, Rand," Coorta said, his voice calm. "The matter to settle is between us."  
"Oh? And what matter is that?"  
Coorta moved forward until he stood about a meter from Atton. "Your debt to me, of course."  
"My _debt_?" Atton snarled. "I don't owe _you_ anything."  
"What of our bet?"  
"That was rigged, and you know it. I don't pay cheats."  
"Ah, yes. You would know, I suppose," Coorta grinned. "After all, cheating is almost second nature to scum like you. Do you think Al'kan here would like to know about the night you spent with his beloved?"

At this, the Zabrak charged, and Coorta stepped aside to let him pass. Atton dodged the first few blows, but it soon became apparent that the Zabrak had the upper hand - he was much heavier, and he was fueled by rage and humiliation. Atton took a blow to the stomach, and staggered back, winded. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, pulling his hand away when he felt blood. The Zabrak had a knife.

With this knowledge, Atton was careful to keep his distance, ducking when the Zabrak got too close. He needed to disarm him, or he was in trouble. He was cut again, this time on his forearm when he tried to block an incoming blow. The rage that had given Al'kan an advantage at the beginning was now his undoing. With each missed attack he wasted energy, and Atton bided his time until he saw an opening. The Zabrak raised his knife and left himself vulnerable to a firm kick in the chest. As he stumbled back, Atton pressed the advantage, twisting the knife from his hand and discarding it. But he was too close now. Al'kan recovered faster than expected, and seized the smaller man by the shoulders. He cracked his horned head against Atton's forehead and released him, letting him drop to the floor, semi-conscious.

In a haze, he heard footsteps and then voices, one rising above the others. "Stop gawking and get back to work, you slackers!" He recognised it as belonging to the Administration Officer, Raten Erik. "And somebody clean up this mess." He felt himself being lifted from the floor onto a stretcher. The bearers were far from gentle, and each jolt pained him, until he blacked out, feeling no more.

He woke a few days later in the med bay, his head bandaged, wounds cleaned. He sat up, gasping at the pain, but determined to leave the confines of the room. The walls seemed to close in around him, the air was too close. He needed to get out. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up slowly, leaning heavily on the table beside him. "Woah, what do you think you're doing?"  
A woman in a doctor's uniform entered the room, tossing her datapad onto one of the empty beds as she approached. "You shouldn't be standing yet." She eased him back down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're a stubborn one, I'll give you that."

Atton looked up, taking in her dark complexion and short, cropped hair. He hadn't met her before, and he liked what he saw. "What's your name?" he asked, giving her his signature smile, which pulled on the cut in his lip. "_Ow!_" he exclaimed, and she laughed. A clear, gentle sound.  
"You may call me Lynna," she said, retrieving a medical kit from the glass cabinet above his bed. "I'll need to remove your shirt."  
"You don't waste any time," he said in a low voice.  
She paused in what she was doing to look at him. "Ah, yes. I had heard that you were the flirtatious sort." She helped him lift the shirt over his head, careful to avoid any unnecessary strain on his injuries. Atton exhaled in dismay. "My second-favourite shirt..."

She set about examining his injuries; gently prodding bruises to see how they were healing, replacing the dressing on his wounds, guiding him through stretches to exercise his muscles. There was no desire in her touch, only firm medical ministration. Not once did she look at him with the admiration he was so used to seeing in women. When she was done, she gave him another dose of painkillers, ordering him to another day of rest before he could return to work. She left the room, and he felt the walls close in again. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the anxiety in his gut, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

Things were back to normal when he returned to work, with everyone acting like nothing had happened. Atton glared at the wall as he cut into it with a mining laser. _They probably enjoyed my absence, _he thought bitterly. Their wages would have increased for the duration of his recovery period. Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't hear someone come up behind him, and was startled when they spoke. "Come with me to my office."  
He turned to the person who had addressed him. It was the Administrator. He attached the laser to his belt and followed him through the facility until they arrived at the Administration Office.

Raten kept his back to Atton, facing a console flicking through security feed from each of the cameras in the facility. "Here we are again, Atton," he said, turning to face him. "Why must you cause so much trouble?"  
Atton stepped forward, defensive. "The brute hit me _first_."  
"Yes, but was he unprovoked?"  
"No," he said truthfully.  
"Then whose fault was it?"  
"Hey, he pulled a knife on me! I was the one who spent four days in the med bay. Why are you berating _me_? You should be punishing the Zabrak!"  
Raten regarded him, expressionless, though he was seething underneath. He wanted nothing more than to throw this man out an airlock and be done with him. However, he wouldn't let it show. He didn't want Atton to suspect.

"Al'kan has been moved to administration in Hangar Bay 3. If you're wise, you'll _avoid_ that section _entirely_ from now on."  
He saw Atton's expression change, and he wondered if he'd pressed it too hard. Had he caught on? "Hangar Bay 3, huh? I know a girl who works there." The words were said casually, but Raten knew what they meant. He clenched his fist, remaining silent. "You saw Al'kan attack me, didn't you? On the camera feed?" When he didn't answer, Atton continued. "You watched the whole thing. And you didn't move a muscle until it was over. It all makes sense now."

Raten struggled to keep his voice level, uninterested, as he replied. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
"Oh, but you do." The miner moved forward, until the desk was all that was between them. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about." His mouth curved into a smirk. "You heard about me and your daughter, didn't you? And you wanted me to pay. Heck, you probably even gave Al'kan the knife!"  
Raten said nothing, his fingernails biting into his skin. He was ready to throttle him, but he wouldn't risk losing his job. Not because of _him_.

Atton laughed, the sound empty, humourless. "I'll bet that you hoped he'd kill me. Then your _precious_ Liza wouldn't be tempted again." His eyes were dark, darker than Raten had ever seen, and he felt the cold hand of fear clasp his heart. "But I survived, and you had to adapt. You transferred Al'kan to Hangar 3 under the pretense of punishment, so that he could be with his love, and protect her from me at the same time."

Raten trembled at the darkness in his voice. How had he figured it out? How could he have seen through it all so clearly? He had underestimated Atton. He was far more intelligent than he let on. When he spoke again, his tone was full of mockery. "If you're _finished_ with me, I'll be going."  
The Administrator could only nod, and when Atton had left, he crumpled into his chair, his head in his hands.

The next day, Atton caught whispers of an unscheduled ship landing in one of the facility's hangar bays. When he pressed one of the miners, he learned that two bodies had been recovered: one was dead, but the other was placed in a kolto tank, recovering from severe injuries, apparently inflicted during a space battle. At the end of the work day, when some of the miners gathered to play a few games of pazaak, conversation around the table was centered on the strange ship and the scarred woman.

"I have a friend working down there, and he said that half of the ship was missing when it landed. The entire hull was covered in scorch marks. It was hardly spaceworthy."  
Atton listened intently, his curiosity piqued. The miner continued, "My friend says the ship's ID signature doesn't match any in our database, and he couldn't figure out where it had been because the navicomputer is locked with a voiceprint."

One of the other miners cut in, "I don't give a kathound's arse about the ship. All I'm thinkin' about is the woman they pulled from the wreckage." His comment prompted a round of laughter from his friends. "I went down there to see fer meself what all the fuss was about and I saw 'er."  
The men leaned in, forgetting their card game, and the miner relished their attention. "She ain't a bad looker, asides the scars," he said, smirking. "If she weren't floatin' in a kolto tank, I'd show 'er a good time..."  
"I doubt she'd want anything from you, given that your face looks like the rear end of a mynock," Atton sneered.  
"Shut up, Rand. At least I've seen 'er."  
Atton just shrugged, and the other seethed. Sensing the tension rising in the room, the first miner changed the subject. "Enough chitchat. Let's get back to our game."

A few days later, Raten entered the dormitories to conduct a routine inspection of the miners' living quarters. He gave no outward sign of his self-satisfaction, maintaining a calm, authoritative air as he searched each of the rooms. When he reached Atton's cabin, however, he smiled. Atton met his gaze, dark eyes burning, but this time Raten didn't feel intimidated. In fact, for the first time in his dealings with the miner, he felt that he was truly in control. He searched the other bunks in the room first, moving slowly. When he reached Atton's bunk, he couldn't help but steal a glance in his direction. He saw Atton frown, and he relished his confusion. He would understand soon enough.

He made a pretense of searching as normal, careful to give no indication of his prior knowledge. He dragged it out as long as he could, before reaching under the mattress, pulling out a blaster pistol hidden there. He held up the gun so the other occupants of the room could see it clearly. "As you know, any kind of blaster technology is strictly prohibited on this facility, according to the agreement you all signed before commencing work here." He paused, letting the moment sink in. "Atton Rand, you are hereby found guilty of possession of prohibited technology, and therefore will be detained until your sentence is decided." He turned to look Atton in the eye, grinning openly.

"I would never pick such an obvious hiding place!" Atton protested. Raten merely shook his head, and signaled for his guards to enter the room. "This is a kriffing _set up!_" The guards seized his arms, forcing them into a pair of stun cuffs. Atton struggled against them, and one of the guards triggered the stun mechanism, sending an electric shock through his body. He collapsed to his knees, and they lifted him roughly from the floor, dragging him out of the room. Raten watched him go with a sense of relief and satisfaction. Now that he possessed legal proof against Atton, he could finally make a legitimate claim to the higher ups. Sure, the gun was planted, but who were they going to believe? Atton, a convicted smuggler, or him, the ever-dutiful Administrator? He was sure he knew the answer.


End file.
